


Smiles Like Daggers

by Kasamira



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek RPF, Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Alien Cultural Differences, Angst, Confessions, Cultural Differences, Drama & Romance, Flirting, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Garak's work is a constant background threat, Interrogation, Julian's augmentation referenced but never made explicit, Liberties taken with anthropology, M/M, Obsidian Order, Romance, Seduction, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-30
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-16 04:54:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29076669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kasamira/pseuds/Kasamira
Summary: It's always rather fascinated me how humans are so...bare. Unadorned. Perhaps, it's a study in simplicity, humans certainly seem fond of that. Each part is open. Vulnerable. None of you retain any visible weapons. Nothing approaching claws, rather dull teeth, you lack ridges to protect soft, raw skin from parting... and hair more suited to silky decorations than protection from the elements.
Relationships: Julian Bashir & Elim Garak, Julian Bashir/Elim Garak
Comments: 9
Kudos: 62





	Smiles Like Daggers

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this in a file for months just stagnating. I really love that quote about Cardassian's being like timber wolves and everything sort of spiraled. Imagining augmented Julian Bashir's thoughts is fascinating. And Julian being self destructive and also too trusting is something I'll never grow tired of.

"It's always rather fascinated me how humans are so...bare. Unadorned. Perhaps, it's a study in simplicity, humans certainly seem fond of that. Each part is open. Vulnerable. None of you retain any visible weapons. Nothing approaching claws, rather dull teeth, you lack ridges to protect soft skin, and hair, yet not enough to protect from the elements. Why really, a Klingon could outrun you, doctor!

An indignant noise escaped Bashir's throat as he moved to interrupt, reaching for his tea and chewing furiously.

"Garak rea-"

"And don't even get me started on your throat, doctor!"

Bashir sputtered, a red flush began to creep up the doctor's throat. He looked close to aspirating his Tarkalean tea.

"My throat! What the hell's wrong with that?" the man held his hands in front of his neck, as if to obscure it from the Cardassian's scrutiny. 

"Doctor, don't be obscene!" By the Union, the boy was pawing at his throat in the middle the replimat in full view of the crowded Promenade.

Bashir, regrettably, removed his hands. 

Far too easy.

Inhaling deeply, then releasing his breath in a low hiss out, raising his gaze to the second and third levels of the Promenade. The doctor had done this once before, and upon repeated inquiry, pinched the bridge of his nose and responded that he was praying for patience. A human ritual if Garak had ever seen one, it exposed the full length of the doctor's throat above his Starfleet collar.

A long line of skin was left exposed, if the doctor was left exasperated for more than several minutes, a thready pulse could be seen along the younger man's carotid artery. The appearance usually lead to a subsequent flood of saliva, and a steady thrum of interest in his on veins. 

At times like these old suspicions rose quickly, surely Bashir had some idea of what he was offering in such a position. 

When Bashir's eyes lowered Garak had his answer.

_Ah, well._

To observe one's surroundings was a lesson Elim Garak had learned very young, it did not always mean safety, but forewarning was often essential. Becoming lost in minor details often preempted pain, and words were such lovely distractions.

"-certainly mean no offense, doctor, it would be foolish to blame any species for the path evolution has led them down, yet humans seem to do themselves no favors. I would never single just your people out, look at Betazoids, they have nearly all the same physical characteristics as humans, although their telepathy does provide natural defenses that humans are unable to match or even defend against, perhaps that wasn't the best comparis-"

"Predator or prey?" 

"Excuse me, doctor?"

Bashir's mouth wobbled before tightening, an odd affectation humans made when most often attempting to conceal a smile. This time it contained a different quality, it seemed both more unsure and sharper. 

He was abruptly reminded of that fool Macbeth, the very book they were discussing.

_There's daggers in men's smiles._

At the time he'd dismissed the line vocally as _so obvious it seemed rather gauche to say aloud_. Asking the doctor if it was meant to be an aside to the audience, but he now understood these plays were meant to be a form of low entertainment, which meant an understood lack of subtlety. In truth, he'd enjoyed the sentiment, been amused by it. Many in his former line of work had employed such methods, a genial, kindly man who smiled and apologized for the coming unpleasantness, _necessary but a bit messy_ , gathered more yielding results than brutish behavior. 

"The Cardassians abandoning this station may have done their best to destroy all the medical records on file but there are some facts, so utterly obvious in Cardassian physiology you'd hardly need to be a doctor to see them."

Oh.

_Oh_ , this held promise.

Garak raised a single eye ridge in provocation.

"Quite. Tell me, what facts about my people are so... _obvious_?"

Then the boy _smiled_.

"Cardassians are predators. It's written as explicitly in your physiology, and behavior, as in your literature." A smile curved around the other man's mouth.

"It's true, humans lack the claws or incisors to deal serious harm to many species. Where I _lack_ , you have a _double helping_."

The nudge at his spice pudding nearly had Garak smiling.

"We used to have lectures, in the Academy on species outside the Federation. One Captain told us that Cardassian's are like timber wolves. Bold in large numbers, but cautious by themselves. He told us, never to be stupid enough to mistake that caution for kindness."

Bashir spread his hands open wide displaying his palms, and the tender, thin skin of his wrists. Under the Replimat's harsh lighting Garak could clearly see the purple that criss-crossed beneath. A single press and the good doctor would not remain so neat.

"I imagine we don't look like much. Not very threatening." Bashir laughed, teeth and dark, wet lips stretched his face open.

"Betazoids have their telepathy, Vulcan children have the strength of human adul-"

"Yes, yes and Klingons are built like Constitution class starships, big, clunky, with multiple redundant systems, and a certain penchant for brutality that seems to have eliminated their species need for more enlightened pursuits. I'm so happy we agree."

He offered a thin lipped smile and tipped his head in a nod Bashir was more likely to see awarded to an unhappy customer. Garak's smiles, real smiles, were as rare as his truths.

Mocking and utterly without apology, those were as common as lies. 

*

The noise on the Promenade surged, drawing eyes towards one of the turbolifts that granted access to the habitat ring. A ship, several by the look of the crowd, had docked, and newcomers were disembarking. The momentary lapse in conversation allowed Bashir to observe Garak as the other man's eyes flickered over the newcomers. The Cardassian's face was genial, almost kindly.

_Unassuming_.

Not for the first time he wondered how the older man managed that. Bashir wasn't blind to the slip of disappointment that had tinged the edges of Garak's mouth before it had lifted in a parody of his customer service smile.

That mask he was familiar with, it was similar to the doctor's face he put on at the beginning of Alpha shift every day. A soothing fall back that always had an answer at the ready, worn so closely to the skin at times he forgot to take it off. 

_Do you think they love you, or the mask you put on every day?_

Miles voice rang in his mind,

  
_Well, for one thing he was a lot easier to get along with._

The Changeling had been better at being _human_ than he was, it had breathed new life into the façade he wore.

Taken each aspect of Bashir and improved it, made people like him, _enjoy_ him, it had donned him like a suit of meat and made its home in his body.

That had been worse than any words Miles could have said. Coming home and having no one notice he was gone was something he could live with, it had cracked something that Garak of all people hadn't noticed. When he thought to deeply on it a hollow ache would settle in his chest, a burning at the back of his throat.

Being told _that thing_ had improved upon _Doctor Julian Bashir_ had crawled under his skin. At the violation and exposure he'd never known before. Like one of those crustaceans he'd seen being slurped up, cracked open, insides raw and exposed. Someone shoving old surgical needles under his finger nails to crack off his nails and expose the beds to the dry station air. 

He'd seen Garak bare. Nearly three ago, under duress, in the grasp of withdrawal and enough triptacederine in his systemen aesthetize an Algorian mammoth.

Seeing the man so _raw_ , flayed open... that image still played in his thoughts and behind his lids at night sometimes. If he'd been _human_ , if he'd worn _Bashir_ like the suit of meat and bones his body been for the Changeling, Julian could have even pretended to be ashamed.

Those nights prefaced the days he'd stay over a few minutes in the infirmary before lunch with Garak, empty apologies that held far too much weight would spill from his mouth, and he'd weave his doctor clothes around his skin just a bit too tightly. Yet never feel covered. Garak's eyes were always so knowing. Something too gnawing to be guilt would sink low and hot in his gut, and he'd bolt his food, lower his eyes. Sick with that gaping mass and horrible new empathy.

Julian would lay there in bed and _wonder_.

"Predator or scavenger?"

That won Garak's attention. His eye ridges raised in amused inquiry, finishing up with the new comers, the decibel level slowly gaining equilibrium.

"A false dichotomy, why not both? For all human's expansionist leanings you never seem willing to simply take. No, you would never be a simple predator. You, my dear doctor, would rather be asked. Invited in."

This was reckless. Klaxons were ringing in his temples but that gaping pit in his chest was yearning and his fool mouth opened anyway.

"That used to be a debate in human anthropology,"

It's fallen by the wayside in recent centuries, but there was no need to give Garak more ground ground to stand on. With every work that spilled from his lips Bashir could feel his feet slipping.

"Did we take our prey down with tools? Sharp rocks and altruism? How very Federation of us." A tinge of irony reached his words that he regretted instantly on seeing Garak's eyes sharpen.

"Or did we wait for the stronger predators to do the work for us, and steal the leftovers?"

"If you'll excuse the interruption, neither seem a very interesting subject for a lecture." Garak said sardonically, a pinprick of light in his eyes, pressing the other man further.

Julian leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, wrists covered.

"Humans are built for endurance. We run dozens of kilometers for sport, we used to devote millions of credits to watching each other run for hours without stopping. Our bodies are practically designed for endurance. The way we breath, how our bodies store energy, our gait, even our sweat."

He ran a hand across the thyroid gland on his throat, Garak's eyes tracked the movement before darting up to meet his eyes.

Caught.

Which one of them was yet to be determined. But each word from his lips felt like part of the chase.

"We're one of the few species that thermoregulate through sweating, we might find perspiration uncomfortable, but it's saved thousands of lives. I can sprint for miles without stopping, without overheating, no matter the temperature. I might not be able to run faster than a Klingon but I could outrun and outlast every species on this station." 

Julian paused. His lungs were dry, burning.

No, each word felt like a _confession_.

"It's called persistence hunting. We run our prey down. _Box them in_. Herd them for miles until they're so exhausted their muscles tremble, tendons rip, and they can barely stand."

He'd never had Garak's attention like this, the Cardassian's face was almost hungry, lips parted, a dark flush had started to crawl up the anterior side of his ridges. Julian could see it just edging out of the blue neckline of his tunic, but spreading. 

"Most humans have seen videos of it, prey cornered from all sides, shaking and weak from the chase, eyes darting for an exit. We made _sport_ of it. Games every bit as violent as Cardassian _gettle_ fights, but then.. _.we were the wolves._ Sometimes their hearts would give out before a spear even touched them."

He took a long swallow from his Tarkalean tea, tongue swiping red and wet across parched lips. The throbbing in his wrists might be hidden, but his throat stretched into one long line of skin wrapped tightly over flesh. Such lovely skin couldn't mask meat and sinew beneath, pulsing between each breath.

Julian's mouth stretched into a wide smile.

"So, humans might not look dangerous. But you need only look at humanity's history to see where our strengths lie. We're so soft to look at, friendly in appearance, with a penchant for altruism, sharing. So _tender_. Everything about us invites you in. We smile to show we're friendly, but you see my teeth, don't you Garak?"

**Author's Note:**

> Imagining the thoughts of augmented Julian- constantly terrified of giving himself away to Garak but also desperately wanting to confess (because he knows Garak is the only one who could possibly understand having to live with a secret so large it colors every word, every action). His self loathing, at "not being human," is practically canon to me. Knowing you're "better" but also "less than" is fascinating, I tried playing a little with Julian thinking of the Changeling as a "thing," while also believing he, himself, is also less than human. I'm not sure I'm happy with it. 
> 
> Gettles: The reference to gettles is not mine, that's an innovation of PrelocAndKanar, also Lady Drace purged her lj, I'm either incredibly late to finding this out or it just happened? Either way, my heart hurts a bit.


End file.
